


Rooms

by Withstarryeyes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationship, Angst, Cute, Demons, Eventual Romance, F/M, Ghouls, Lonely Reader, Mix-up, Motels, Nightmares, PTSD, Panic Attack, Reader-Insert, Road Trip, description of abuse in chapter 5, h/c, kinda PTSD, past abusive relationship, shared motel room, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-10 01:01:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7824070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Withstarryeyes/pseuds/Withstarryeyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a long night, you've been thrown out by your boyfriend, stuck in the rain, and all you want to do is find a motel room to go to sleep. But then the motel attendant puts you in the same room as someone else. Someone who is gruff and pulls a gun on you and that you're expected to stay with? You have to shut up and figure out how to deal. But maybe, just maybe, this Dean character isn't as gruff as you thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Your converse slipped in and out of puddles as you watched the red taillights of cars go past, hazy through the rain that was pouring down around you. You briefly thought about finding someplace to go inside and shed your soaked jacket and shoes but knew it was too late for anything but bars to be open. Bars had handsy guys that stayed too long and asked too many questions and you didn’t want to deal with that tonight so you just continued a half dead march down the street. Soft jazz music filtered out of the lounges you passed by, only broken up by the half-drunk cheers of frat boys and the ding of the cash register. 

Teeth clicking, hair plastered to your face, tears mixed in with the rain falling down the slopes of your cheek, it just hadn’t been your day. Your feet were getting tired now as you neared the end of the block, a rickety old sign hanging over an even older door that held promise of dirty beds and stale breakfast that took your money and scammed you out of a nice warm shower. You counted the money in your pocket and hiked your bag up further on your shoulder. It would have to do for now. 

You shook out your hair and squinted against the suddenly harsh lights in the motel lobby. Walking up to the counter you removed $50 dollars and lightly tapped the bell on the filthy counter to alert the zoned out attendant of your presence. He startled a little bit and you blushed, suddenly self-conscious of your smudged makeup and drenched clothes.

“Hi! Um… I need a room for the night,” You stated, shifting the bag on your shoulder once again and thrusting the money closer to the attendant. He blinked, seeming to regain his bearings and took the cash, nipping the keys from behind him. 

“Name?” It was your time to startle at the question. A name? You didn’t want to give up your own in case they came looking for you but you didn’t have time to think of a lie.

“Unlisted,” You settled on, knowing this way that nobody would even know you were in the hotel. Especially not the asshole boyfriend that had run you out of the apartment and told you to never come back.

The attendant flashed you an empathetic look but nodded slowly and ringing you up, “3 flights up, it’s the 5th door on the right,” He explained and you thanked him, taking the key with pruned hands and ashen fingertips. 

It wasn’t the first time you’d been on your own. Not after the ghouls killed your parents and you had to learn what it was like to truly be on the run with nothing but lint in your pockets and the few clothes you could fit in a backpack. You’d struggled then, but you had been 16. You were older now, wiser and you figured you could hold your own.

You closed your eyes, wishing you could fall asleep right there in that dusty lobby but knowing that it would be worth it to climb the stairs and fall into a real bed. However moldy that bed may be. The motel had cheap red carpeting lining the halls and the doors were a disgusting shade of gold that had you wanting to scrape it off. You sighed, finally spotting your room and twisting the key in the lock. 

The door swung open and you sighed, happy to be somewhere that felt at least a little like home. But that was before you saw the gun and more importantly, the man behind it. 

“Who the hell are you and how did you find this room?” The man shouted, he was at least a foot taller than you and his hair was freshly washed. He looked domestic in his plaid shirt and worn jeans but the aggressive stance he had his body pinned in was anything but. 

“I-I’m sorry this is the room the attendant gave me,” You had your arms raised and were fighting off images of the last time you had a gun aimed at you. You shook your head, clearing the thoughts of the monsters that wore the faces of your parents. 

“Show me!” She shouted and shoved the gun closer to your face. You dropped your backpack, the thump ringing out throughout the room. The receipt was in your pocket and you slowly removed it, your movements jerky. 

He snatched it out of your hand, reading it and lowering the gun before throwing it back at you. 

“So is this my room or not?” The gun was down and your tiredness was already turning into frustration. 

He didn’t answer and you ran forward, tugging the sleeve of his shirt, “Hey I asked you a question. You shouldn’t ignore me you know. I’m not the one that pulled a gun on a complete stranger,” He waved his hand to cut you off, the motel phone pressed directly to his ear. 

You clenched your fists and slammed your backpack on one of the beds. Your clothes were sticking tightly to your skin and you peeled off the layers. The man turned around when your shirt was halfway off your chest. 

“What the hell are you doing?” He growled and you smirked. 

“Taking a shower in my room.”

“It’s not your room!”

“Ah but it might be and until you figure it out I’m going to go get fucking warm because I’ve been in the rain for a fucking hour and it’s been a fucking terrible night. Got it,” His eyes were hard but you didn’t hear a no so you slinked into the bathroom, turning the shower on the hottest setting possible before slipping in. 

By the time you got out the man had changed into sweatpants and his hair was mussed up. He still looked stuck-up but he remained silent as you crossed the room to put your half-dried clothes back on. 

“What didn’t bring any spares?” He joked and you snorted. 

“It speaks.” He didn’t respond. Rolling your eyes, you pulled out your phone, seeing the cracks snaking across the screen from where your boyfriend had thrown it. 

“So is this my room or what?” You asked and maybe it was the phone or a reminder that you didn’t want to be a terrible person but your tone had dropped the defensive. 

“Yes.” He said and you waited for him to continue. 

“Then what are you doing here?” You asked and he smirked. 

“They ran out of rooms, looks like we’re stuck together.” You almost cried at that. Stuck with him? The man that pulled a gun on you. 

“Goodie,” He pulled a sour face, “Well, roomie do I at least get a name?” You mocked, not actually expecting an answer. 

“Dean,” He stated so quickly and sharply you thought you’d hallucinated it. Just as quickly as he’d spoken he rolled onto his side, clicking off his lamp and closing his eyes for sleep. 

Well this was going to be a fun experience, you thought before going to bed yourself. 


	2. Chapter 2

_ You were on the cold hard ground, the palm of your hand scraping against the wood floor. Your mother, scratch that, the thing that you thought was your mother loomed over you. Cheshire grin stretching over your mother’s soft face, the usually styled blonde hair matted and tangled from where you’d pulled it. It had you in a death grip and you’d bitten the arm around your throat long enough to scramble halfway around the room. The other one wearing your father like a halloween costume lay dead by your feet, his head resting against the bookshelf.  _

_ “I killed him. He was in my way and now you are. Oh-ho sweetie what I’m gonna do to you,” It spoke in your mother’s voice and you wondered how you could’ve been fooled for so long. How you could have thought his thing and that thing were your parents returning from vacation.  _

_ “Please just let me go. I promise I won’t tell anyone! I’ll leave and never come back,” You rambled, still hopelessly scooting away from the thing that had a knife and blood on her clothes. Her own kind’s blood. You felt tears slipping down your cheeks as she approached, thinking how cruel the world had to be to watch yourself be murdered by the same thing that killed your parents. That killed your parents and now looked like them. _

_ “Now why would I do that when I could eat you and get that gorgeous body? Suburban Mom is not my usual style,” You whimpered and watched as it stepped forward, leaned down and tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, “Ah yes you will be a much better match,” The knife slipped in between your ribs and you gasped. You couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t fathom air even being in the room because it wasn’t going into your lungs and you were breathing so fast. How could you not be getting anything? _

_ “Hush child it’ll be over soon,” The thing said and plunged the knife into your neck. _

* * *

 

“Hey! Hey!” Your arms were pinned down to the bed and you bucked against the restraints.

“Get off of me! Get off of me! You can’t have me. P-please just don’t take me, you already took my parents,” You opened your eyes, trying to get one last glance at the ghoul before it killed you. If anything you just wanted to see your Mother one last time… even if it wasn’t really her. 

What blinked back at you was anything but your mother. Apple green eyes and freckles and a concerned frown. You coughed awkwardly and stopped trying to assault the man, instead ripping your hand from his grasp and sitting up on the bed. The back of your shirt was sweat slicked and your jeans were stiff from the prior rain. 

“Sorry,” You mumbled and Dean looked like he was about to say something--anything-- but all he did was crawl into your bed. 

Your first instinct was to curl around him. To hug him tight and cry your heart out but you didn’t know him and he had pulled a gun on you earlier. 

“What are you doing?” You asked and you tried to keep your voice above a whisper but all you could get out was a whimper. 

“Do you want to talk about it,” You rolled your eyes. You should’ve known he would ignore your question. 

Did you want to talk about it? You thought about it. Thought about telling your story. About your losses and heartbreak and how somehow you’d ended up with a monster anyway. But the tears were threatening to come and you didn’t want to cry on a complete stranger so you just pulled away. 

“No, you can go back to your bed now. I’m sorry I woke you up,” You stated, void of emotion. You had to be numb now or you’d never get out of that pit that always sucked you back in after that dream. 

“Don’t be. We’ve all been there,” For a minute you thought he was going to explain but he didn’t. Just left the statement hanging in the air like dust. He shifted and you imagined him staying there in your bed, cuddling you back into a sane sleep but you knew he was going to go back to his bed. Become that half-mute man that you’d met that night. 

To your surprise he’d just turned to face you. “Can I ask you a question?” His voice was quiet and husky and you closed the eyes at the resemblance to your father’s voice. When it was young and telling you goodbye before disappearing on that cruise. 

“Sure,” He’d stayed with you. How could you deny him one question?

“What’s your name,” You opened your eyes in shock and turned to face him. Mildly amused, he smirked at the look of shock on your face. 

“I never did introduce myself did I? Just cursed at you and went to go take a shower,” You rambled mostly to yourself feeling a pang of guilt, “It’s Y/N. I’m sorry about yesterday, it was rough. But anyway I shouldn’t have talked to you that way.” 

You expected silence in return but Dean ran a hand through his hair and grimaced. God, you upset him. “Nah, past is the past. I did pull a gun on you after all,” That concession was enough to make your heart swell for the guy. You resisted pressing on why he had a gun in the first place because at least he was being nice to you. 

Your side of the bed rose and he exited and you fought back a whimper at him moving. “Goodnight Dean,” You settled for. 

“Goodnight, Y/N,” He said and even distancing himself from you, you couldn’t help but feel that maybe you and Dean could get along while sharing the room. 


	3. Chapter 3

You woke up to a fluttering stomach and sunlight cresting over your eyes. You blinked awake, the blinds were open, an abandoned cup of coffee lay on the small table between the beds here in the motel room and for a second you had to readjust. You’re not in your old apartment. He’s not waiting for you to get up. You scan the room for the man that shocks you everytime you speak to him but he’s long gone. 

You sighed, covered your face with your hands and grimaced. He’d probably left already. Checked out of the room you guys shared and you’d never see him again. But that was before you heard keys scratching the lock. Before the door was pushed open with light footsteps and a quiet curse word littered as you hear keys drop to the ground. 

“Need any help?” You offered from your bed and think about how your hair looks. It’s usually unruly after you shower and your nightmare couldn't have helped the rat’s nest. 

“You’re awake,” He blinks back at you like you’re an alien that he discovered in his room. You just blushed and nodded, padding off to the bathroom as Dean unloads the greasy bag in his hands. You could smell the sugar on donuts and your stomach fluttered again. He’d brought back breakfast. 

A smile stretched across your face. You can’t even remember the last time anyone had brought you breakfast. The last time anyone had even cared enough to think about you or your well-being. You peeked in the mirror, wiping off a mascara smudge from last night’s shower before you exited the small bathroom. 

“You want any?” Dean asked and you nodded, plucking a chocolate glaze from the pile and sitting across from him. 

“Thanks,” You said. He was reading the paper and you looked to the ceiling. You didn’t really know how to talk to people. Especially not weird strangers that comforted you through a nightmare. 

“So… you gonna wear those clothes forever?” Dean asked and you jumped.  You glanced down at your stiff jeans and t-shirt. You hadn’t had any time to pack.

“Uh,” you rubbed the back of your neck nervously, a blush stretching across your face like wings of a bird, “I didn't pack anything else,” You whispered. 

Dean’s face did a weird concerned thing at that and your furrowed your brows. It was so weird to see compassion leveled at you. He seemed to mull something over, pushing his newspaper down on the table and scootching out of his chair. He collected his keys, his jacket and tugged your up by your hand. 

“W-what are you doing?” Your stomach fluttered with nerves. It felt all too familiar. Silence in the face of commands. Shaking your head, you reminded yourself that Dean wasn’t him. Besides he had kicked you out and told you never to return. There’s no way he’d come to look for you… right?

“We’re leaving,” You gulped, still shuddering and pushing down bad memories of your old boyfriend saying those same words, his smile like a cat caught a canary. His idea of leaving as driving away and punishing you for whatever he did you didn’t like. 

“W-where?” You stuttered and Dean stopped for a moment to glance back at you. Maybe it was the pallor of your face or how wide your eyes were but he dropped your hand and looked at you like a concerned paramedic. His eyes were soft, his shoulders slumped. Like he was trying his best to emulate a teddy bear. 

“Shopping,” He said, his voice like brown sugar and butter, “Are you okay?” He took a slight step back and almost as if you were being freed you could breathe again. 

“I’m fine. Shopping sounds great,” Your smile felt like dressing up a dog in a tutu, all forcefulness and uncomfortable manipulation.

* * *

 

Shopping with Dean felt like riding a boat on the ocean. It was rocky and uncomfortable, unstable but somehow you were mesmorized. Somehow he’d managed to get you into 15 flannels of various colors. Multiple black and leather jeans and quite a few combat boots. You had to say you didn’t mind the new style. You’d usually stuck with skirts and crop tops when you were back with you boyfriend but this new everything made you feel… powerful. It was a new sensation, after have been powerless for so long but you enjoyed it. 

Dean was carrying a mountain of clothing and you blushed at the sheer magnanimous attitude Dean seemed to have. 

“You don’t have to buy all those, just a few should last me a while,” You said in a quiet voice and blushed more when his green eyes pivoted to stare at you. 

“Y/N, you have no clothing. This is only enough to last a few weeks before you have to do laundry, it’s not even a wardrobe, not really,” You felt the urge to argue with him about everything he was giving you but were afraid to come off as ungrateful. He wasn’t even asking for anything in exchange.

“Thank you, really,” You said and the tone in your voice elicited a head tilt from Dean, curiosity.

“You’re welcome, this really isn’t that much.” You shook your head slightly. He looked like he was going to ask you more. Your breathing hitched and you thought that maybe you’d have to explain everything , but he just laid a hand on your shoulder, “really, Y/N, I’m happy to.”

You nodded, not knowing how long this happiness was gonna last before the bottom fell out. The bottom always fell out. 


	4. Chapter 4

You’d see flashes of that man you first met in the motel room when you were soaking wet and praying that everything would get better. It was in the mysterious disappearances after a shady phonecall, in the discovery of hidden weapons and the crust of blood on the bottom of his boots. You’d trusted Dean but slowly you were beginning to wonder if you should have. 

You’d never had good taste in men so why now did you think everything had changed? Maybe it was the softness in his eyes or his comforting weight pressed against your back as you woke up screaming, again and again. Maybe it was the way he’d see the sadness in your posture and he’d open the blinds, say something about maybe going for a walk that day. And if you were really against doing anything how he’d put on old reruns of Friends and quietly maneuver around the small room, making you food and handing you drinks and making sure you were okay. 

He always did that, make sure you were taken care of, before moving onto whatever he had to do that day. But as you looked at the knife hidden under his pillow, dried blood on the handle and some form of salt glued by dirt on the side, you couldn’t help but feel stranded. 

Stranded in this dilemma of a Jekyl and Hyde Dean Winchester. The deadbolt shifted on the door and you fumbled to return the knife to its place under Dean’s pillow. You dove for your own bed, missing the sheets and thudding to the ground as two unfamiliar men entered the room. 

You bit back a gasp and wriggled under the sheets, cursing yourself for abandoning the knife. Who the hell was Dean and why were these men in the room. They crashed through the rooms, recklessly throwing drawers out of the dresses, knocking over lamps and laptops and items that were important.

Feeling for your phone in your pocket you dropped it as one of the men pulled you out by your feet. 

“Who do we have here? A Winchester pet. Oh aren’t you just delicious,” You snarled, kicking out a foot to sweep underneath the man. His bald head hit the ground hard but he laughed coldly and thrusted himself back up. 

“I am not a pet,” You spat out through gritted teeth and eyed the untouched pillow on your roommate's bed. 

Baldy’s eyes flashed black and you winced. Fucking demons, of course they’re demons, why wouldn’t they be? 

“Scary. The eyes usually work on most folks?” Airily sassing the demons felt good even though your mind was screaming at you on how  _ bad bad bad _ of an idea this was. 

A creak, a few gunshots, and you watched a silver knife fly through the air, puncturing the chest of the first demon as he went down in a flickering heap of orange electricity. 

“Y/N?” Dean’s voice called out and you quickly grabbed the knife, creeping around to the back of the second demon and forcing into the man’s throat. 

“Here,” You said, dropping the knife and taking heaving breaths, trying to relax yourself from another monstrous situation that ramped up your heartbeat and adrenaline levels. 

He rushed over to you, gently gripping your shoulders and peering into your eyes, “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Other than the fact that a couple of fucking demons were in our hotel room, yeah I’d say I’m doing just peachy,” You stated, eyes darting back to the corpses on the ratty floor. 

“Wait--” He held his hand up, eying you with curiosity, “I’ve been shacked up with a hunter for a month and you never told me.” He looked confused and you mirrored his puzzled stance. 

“A hunter? No, I don’t... “ You crinkled your nose in disgust, “I don’t kill deer and stuff.” 

“If you’re not a hunter why aren’t you freaking the fuck out?” He was packing the bags in the room while questioning you and you wondered if he did this often. 

“I have a better question, who the hell are you?” You countered and Dean stared at you. His eyes were piercing and you wilted under his gaze. 

“Look, I don’t know what a hunter is but I’m no stranger to the supernatural. My parents bit the dust a few years ago, ghouls,” You said the words with such detachment in order to not feel the twinging aftershocks of your loss. 

Dean softened a little, swallowing thickly and avoiding your eyes. Pity, a sight you knew too well. “I’m sorry,” He stated, the words falling short. It got quiet in the room, Dean abandoning his packing for a second. You mumbled something in response, taking time to register those twinging aftershocks that were finally appearing. 

“Now to you. Who the hell are you?” You asked, it was a little quiet but you excused it in the wake of your past being dug up. 

“I’m a hunter,” You opened your mouth to question what exactly that meant but he cut you off with a look, “I hunt supernatural creatures. That’s why I was in town actually, trying to hunt down a couple of Crowley’s demons, needed some information.” 

“You… kill these things? For a living?” Bland, short, and punctuated. 

He shrugged, “Family business sort of thing.”

Dean’s eyes flashed with some sort of memory and you waited for it to pass. Sticking out a hand, you touched his shoulder, “Nice to meet you Dean, and I mean  _ really _ meet you.” 

He patted your back, his bag now fully packed and you pulled out your backpack. 

“Mind giving me a ride outta dodge?” Dean smiled, nodding his head yes and pulling you out of the room. Descending the staircase you felt a little safer with Dean behind you… that is until you ran straight into your ex. 

He had jet black eyes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the wait guys, got a little busy with school. I hope you like this chapter, there will be more on the way! Please leave a review. Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

“I believe you have something of mine, Winchester,” He said as you gaped at him. 

This could not be happening. Your ex could not be a demon. He was bad enough as a person, let alone something actually reincarnated from Hell. 

“What her?” Dean asked, waving his hand in your direction. Your ex narrowed his eyes. 

It was weird watching those same mannerisms you’d seen so many times before in a different context. His hair was tussled from a fight, blood streaking the contours of his face. He was smirking, cocky in the way you knew meant trouble. 

“I don’t think I belong to anybody,” You mumbled, looking at your shoes. They were scuffed up converse with battered laces and muddied sides. You picked at the buttons on your top. You couldn’t look him in the eyes. His cold, deadly eyes. 

“Huh, my vessel seems to think otherwise,” His voice sounded just like the one after dinner telling you that you couldn’t cook and you’d disappointed him. His anger emphasized in broken dishes and bruised arms. In your apron being ripped and your throat being clenched between one big solid hand of his. You gulped. 

“Yeah, well so do I,” Dean growled, shifting his hand to grip the hilt of the knife. “Y/N go get in the car.”

You nodded slowly, eyeing that man that had wrecked your already in shambles life. That had pounced on you in your most vulnerable state and used it to pin you in a terrible home for so long. You know it isn't really him, not anymore. But same body, same attitude and it felt a little too similar. 

“Not so fast,” He snipped, waving his hand in your direction and sending you flying across the lobby.

 

_ Glass shattered, one of the clean cups being torn from your grip and slammed on the counter. He was panting, his teeth clenched, his hands trembling in anger. He was sneering at you. You’d messed up dinner. You put too much butter in the mac and cheese and he hadn’t appreciated it.  _

_ “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. I can make you another batch,” You apologized and scrambled to grab another pot.  _

_ He blocked your path to the refrigerator.  _

_ “You’re sorry? You’re sorry? Sorry doesn’t fix the meal, babe,” He screamed, grabbing you by the arms and shoving you into the cabinets. Your head hit a knob and you could feel blood dripping down your hair.  _

_ “I can fix it!” You pleaded, “We have extra blueberries. I’ll make cobbler. You love cobbler!” _

_ “Oh so now you know what I love. You’re a mind reader now,” His words were a trap, you knew this but it was too easy to fall into the spider’s web.  _

_ “N-no, that’s not what I meant.” He stalked towards you and you shut your eyes, putting the towel back on the counter.  _

_ “What did you mean, exactly?” He whispered an inch from your face. His nose was touching yours and you opened your eyes to his. They were so angry, full of hatred and you could feel tears slipping down your cheeks.  _

_ “I-I d-don’t know,” You admitted, turning your gaze to the ground.  _

_ “No you don’t know. Because you don’t know anything,” He accused, punching you in the collarbone, “You’re just a clueless runaway,” He choked you, flipping your back to the tiled wall. You couldn’t breathe, “Isn’t that right honey?” _

_ You nodded, your feet pedaling to catch anything but air.  _

_ “Say it!” he demanded. _

_ “I’m just a clueless runaway,” You cried and he released you to crumple to the ground. You gasped for air. Coughing against the roughness in your throat and the thickness of tears.  _

_ “I’ll be in my room. Clean up this mess.” And with that the storm was over. Glass shattered on the floor, you afraid for your life and yet this was the life you’d been stuck in.  _

 

“Y/N!” A hand roughly grabbed your arm and you screamed, clawing at the knuckles in the grip. 

“I’m just a clueless runaway!” You screeched, heaving in breaths and looking panicked around the room. Dean was blinking down at you and you looked over your shoulder. The lobby of the motel came into view. Your ex’s limp body on the ground, blood slowly seeping into the carpet. Dean had removed his hand after your outburst and he looked concerned. 

“S-sorry,” You stuttered and stood up, “Is he okay?” You asked before your mind caught up to what you’d asked. He might’ve been an abusive bastard but you’d loved him. Nothing would ever change that. 

“Yeah, he’s fine. I exorcised the demon but that doesn’t keep them away forever. Come on, we need to get the hell out of here before the rest show up.” Dean said, heading out the scratched glass doors. 

“There’s more of them?” Dean just slid a glance at you. “Great, there’s more of them,” You joked. You were still shaken, the sounds of slamming and banging. Of your bones being hit reverberating in your mind. But slowly you were gaining your bearings. You’d escaped that life and you’d do it again if you had to. 

Dean opened your car door and you slid into his car. The seats were a tan leather, the dash beautifully designed, and you clumsily unloaded your backpack on the floor. He shifted the car into drive, peeling out of the parking lot. You were on the highway when Dean asked what you’d been dreading since it happened. 

“Who was that guy, Y/N. What did he do to you?” Dean’s voice was quiet for once and you looked at him, hoping to catch a concerned gaze. Instead, his eyes were focused on the road. 

“Just a bad nightmare,” You swallowed thickly, turning towards the window and pretending to go to sleep. You wouldn’t have this conversation. Not now, when you knew that a demon was willing to use your past against you. Not after you’d had a panic attack from him and that relationship. To your happiness, Dean remained quiet, your statement dissipating into the still night and the slight hum of the engine cruising down the highway. 


	6. Chapter 6

Your stomach growled and as if Dean had read your mind he pulled into the parking lot of a Bob Evans. You stretched your legs getting out of the car, fluffing up your hair and smoothing down your wrinkled clothes. The sun was just beginning to rise and you wondered how far you’d gotten from the old town.

“Hungry?” Dean asked and you nodded sleepily, rubbing at your tired eyes.

The restaurant smelled like greased bacon and blueberry pie and you inhaled deeply, happy to be getting a full meal. The two of you were seated, Dean flirting minimally with the waitress and ordering a black coffee for himself. You asked for a cappuccino, flipping through the menu to look for something good. Dean’s menu remained untouched. 

“You know there’s something that’s been bothering me,” Dean said and your heart clenched in your chest. 

“Really?” You squeaked out, studying the descriptions of the pancakes more intensely. 

“Yeah, how does a girl know what ghouls and demons are but not know what a hunter is?” You looked to him, surprised but glad he hadn’t brought up the man from your past. You coughed a little, thinking it over. 

“Bad luck, bad timing? Um, no seriously I’ve just encountered both. After my parents died I did a bunch of research about the supernatural, memorized a few exorcisms, learned a few weaknesses of monsters. I worked at a hospital for a few years, one of my coworkers got possessed,” You shrugged, the memory gleaming in your mind but you were unwilling to press play. To watch that horrendous movie again. 

“Hm…” He fiddled with a coffee stir, turning his head to look at the horizon. “And the demon? He said his vessel had an attachment to you. You wanna talk about that?” 

You blew out a breath, defeated. That conversation had been dodged once and you guessed it was time to share with Dean, “That would be my ex-boyfriend,” He looked shocked and you smiled a bit. He was cute ruffled. His eyes would get wide and his hands would freeze, his gaze locked on you. It was one of the few times he looked...soft. Looked less beastly and a little more teddy-bear. 

“He was an abusive bastard. Didn’t know it at first. He was my roommate after my parents died. We dated, he was sweet, really, at first. Then he changed…” You swallowed thickly again. “He’d be angry all the time. And it was always my fault. I burnt dinner or washed his shirts wrong or spent too much time in front of the tv,” You were about to start crying. Could feel the sadness pushing against your chest.

Your breakfast arrived then, and the only sound between the two of you was the forks and knife against plates. Dean sipped his coffee. 

“It wasn’t your fault, “ Dean broke the silence and you froze, your egg halfway to your mouth. You blushed, eyes glazing over with the familiar guilt.  _ If I’d been good enough he wouldn’t have… _ You let the thought bottom out. It was wrong, you knew that in the stirring in the bottom of your stomach but it was hard to forget sometimes. A brainwash victim just trying to reverse the damage. 

Dean fell silent again and the two of you finished your coffee together, watching the sun rise over the horizon as more customers filed in. You felt like you were in a walking nightmare, one that should end any minute. But, no, this was your life. Your terrible, tragic, life. But you were strong and you were going to fight to earn every day, every minute untarnished. 

“Dean?” You felt determined. His gaze remained on the puddle of coffee that remained in his cup. “Can I… I want to be a hunter with you.” It was time that you stopped running.

“Y/N, it’s dangerous, I can’t let that happen.” He growled and you squinted your eyes at him.

“I have survived a ghoul encounter, a demonic encounter, and abuse. I know dangerous. It’s looked me in the eye and I have stared back, unblinking.”

“We’ll see,” He conceded, eyeing your serious expression. Your eyes were wild, a lit with a light he’d never seen before. You looked beautiful when you had a purpose. Like the world was an obstacle you were overcome. 

The words  _ we’ll see _ filled you with a hope you couldn’t explain. You knew this path, this new beginning was a new life waiting to happen. You couldn’t wait to begin it. 

But before it could begin, you needed Dean to train you.  _ This was going to be interesting. _


	7. Chapter 6 and a Half

“You’re not going hard enough,” Your hands were bruised, your knuckles sore from pounding the punching bag for hours. Your bones were sawdust and you looked at Dean, panting.

“I’m...doing the best I can,” You sighed, swiping sweat from your face and feeling like you could crumple right there on the matt. 

You guys had found an abandoned gym and were currently squatting where machines and matts and punching bags were in abundance. Dean was sitting in a chair, his shirt sweat slicked and sticking to every ab on his chest. You gulped, darting your eyes away from him. From his abs, from his freckles, from his messy hair. 

“It’s not good enough,” He stated and you blew out a breath. You knew this, you really did, but it hurt. 

“I know,” You admitted and turned, taking your stance and continuing to train. Punching and kicking and learning how to evade death grips. Learning how to survive. Funny, you’d never known how to do that before. 

Your eyes met and maybe it was love or lust or destiny or maybe it was timing or convenience or a fluke but something moved inside you. This was the man who had saved you, from yourself, from depression, from demons. This was the guy that was strong and soft and everything in between. The one that held rage in the fists of his hands and injustice in his eyes and softness in the droop of his eyes and lips. 

You didn’t know if he felt the same thing. Didn’t know if he’d saved you for justice or if he saved you because you valued him. You didn’t know any of this as you stepped closer, unwrapping your hands and never breaking eye contact. 

You didn’t know if he felt the same thing as you wrapped a hand around his shoulder and tilted your head, seeing a little bit of confusion leak into his pout, a little bit of curiosity in his raised eyebrows. 

You didn’t know if he felt the same thing as you leaned in and kissed him. Your heart soared as he pressed you up against the wall, his mouth pressing hard against yours but his hands as gentle as a breeze. He rand his fingers over your curves and hair and cheeks. He explored your lips and neck and collarbones with his lips. He peered into your soul with eyes green as the meadows in Kansas. 

You hadn’t known if he’d felt the same thing. But in that moment, the split second where he broke away, eyes shining with a high you both felt, you knew that he did. 

“Think you can distract me into getting a break?” He joked and you smiled, blushing and tilting your head downwards. He tucked your head under his chin. 

“Worked didn’t it?” Your voice was muffled in the crook of his neck. 

“Guess it did, huh?” He said, your lips tickling him as you smiled. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! I really hoped you liked this chapter! If you'd like to see more of this story please leave a comment/kudos as I really appreciate the feedback.


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